8.09.2015

The Poet and the Auspex

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
We walk in the light of afternoon
We two - as though two were not
Myself and her - and the rising moon
In peace, though our spirits fought;

"You act as though you cannot see
Though the path is plain ahead
The white hart I saw run behind a tree
But a moment ago," she said;

"I see tracks," I said, "Though I know not of
The spirit of which you speak
Subtle they are, as daylight above
Has made my vision weak;"

"No spirit he was," she then averred
"But a being of bone and flesh.
You play as one blind, and you've preferred
To deceive me yet afresh;"

"The day is too bright to see such things
As candles glow not in the noon
If I dream we may see what the dreaming brings"
I said, though dusk was not soon;

So I sang a song I wrote of that wood
And she sang as she alone can
Of paths half-lit that lead to a rood
Of we, both woman and man;

And as though we had jested a thing out of turn
We, walking hand in hand
Tripped as though uprightness to spurn
And fell in a crease of the land;

We awake in a daze, our heads to raise
To ensure that the other was there
"Tell me then, did you dream-" she says
Quietly between draping hair;

I reply, "I saw a white deer go by
And she stopped to turn her head;
In her I hoped was the Eastern sky
But I dreamt of you instead."

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